the Acolyte
by Chake99
Summary: Charon, chosen of the schola progenium has been assigned an inquisitor to learn from and serve. He meets his master Appolyon on the planet of Thracia, where everything is not as it seems...


Timeline event:

"999M41 — Inquisitor Apollyon detects taint of Chaos on Thracia."

from: Acolyte

Story:

The dropship zoomed through the Thracia's polluted atmosphere, a lone star in the smoggy sky. Inside, in a full reentry harness, Charon repeated the Rites of Duty quietly to relieve his tenseness.

"... for we shall serve His will, with our lives, and with our works, and with our deaths, with every action we commit..."

he checked again to see if he had properly committed Inquisitor Apollyon's bio to his memory implant, and with a familiar sensation, facts about the man who would be Charon's master twisted through his consciousness. Like Charon Apollyon had been a production of the Schola Progenium, a prodigy orphan drilled from an early age to serve the Imperium. Apollyon had been selected as acolyte by the great Ordo Malleus Lord Inquisitor Istenger and had served him for several years when in the Yerin VI incident... the implant was working properly.

"... and every action we must not commit, with everyone of his enemies we slay, and everyone of his subjects we direct in his service..."

Already Charon could begin to feel the psychic hum from the tens of billions of humans who lived in Thracia Prime, the planet's biggest hive-city. Behind a barrier, the pilot flicked a switch and the dropship burners began to kick in, slowing the manic pace at which the craft was descending.

a few minutes later, the craft touched down on a landing pad near the top of the gargantuan structure.

A steel-eyed servitor indicated the room Charon was to enter. Charon stepped past two alert looking inquisitorial stormtroopers and up to the retinal scanner naming himself according to standard Inquisitorial protocol: "Appelinarius Helming Charon, Ordo Malleus, Acolyte to Inquisitor Apollyon, rank Interrogator." The door hissed open. The room was spacious and richly furnished. Apollyon was sitting near the center, Charon recognized him instantly from the data-pads. Charon walked towards him.

"Sit."

Charon did as was bidden.

"What is your profile?" Apollyon spoke sharply in high gothic. Everything about him was sharp, from his tone, to his features, to his posture.

"I am a level Chi plus psyker trained and certified by the Schola Progenium, with a level 4 functioning memory implant with no manifested side-effects." Charon recited himself quickly, "I am trained in advanced diplomacy, improved unarmed combat, knife combat, and power-weapon use. I am capable of reconstructing and maintaining all five standard patterns of lasguns and laspistols, the three most common patterns of bolters and boltpistols, and virtually any standard autoweapon. I have been formally certified at level 4 marksmanship with standard and light weapons, but I have recieved no formal heavy weapons training..."

Apollyon caught something in Charon's tone "and informally?"

"I test at level 3 marksmanship." Apollyon nodded and Charon continued: "I have no force weapon training, I know all of the rites befitting an Ordo Malleus explicator, I speak 150 languages and 800 different dialects..."

Apollyon cut him off again "Do you speak Ferene?"

Charon guessed from the name "Is it an Underhive pattern IV dialect?"

Apollyon nodded, the faintest trace of a smile playing across his face "Yes, sort of, 3 degrees of separation."

"I can learn it in half an hour with a proper memory up-link"

Charon could tell he was supposed to continue "I test at 151 on alpha pattern logic tests, 146 on beta pattern investigative evaluations and carry a 97 percent on complex computation operations" he finished. Charon felt like he had just spilled his guts on the floor. His entire life had been preparation for this moment, when he finally would finally begin to serve and learn from an inquisitor; he was a blank slate, and his profile was all he was.

Apollyon nodded and moved slightly in his seat, seeming to indicate Charon's qualifications as adequate. His long cloak adorned with the skulls of banished daemons moving with him. "Do you know who Inquisitor Lord Garuth is?"

"Yes," Charon could feel the information once again spinning into his mind from the memory unit "he was made famous and given the rank of Lord Inquisitor for his involvement in the Gelarxis incident, where he was responsible for stopping the Word Bearers from creating a localized warp rift. More recently he was named in the Telertic Conspiracy by one of the cultists as a chief mastermind, but nothing could be substantiated..." Charon filtered through the data deeming most of the rest of small importance. "He is currently in this sector" Charon finished.

"Actually, he is in this hive right now. And he has compelled the planetary governor to keep me under house arrest" Apollyon said frowning "he has stated I will interfere with his investigations, implying I carry chaos taint. Something is amiss, can't you feel it?."

Charon nodded, knowing him right: behind the psychic hum of the millions he could feel something dark and hateful stirring.

"My sources have indicated to me" continued Apollyon "the inquisitor lord Garuth has been repeatedly voyaging beyond the Wall and into the underhive. I need the presence of chaos there to be investigated and either confirmed or denied. Are you willing to do this?"

Inquisitors never asked people to perform tasks; they directed them. Charon was being asked if he would commit himself to a task willingly; elsewise he realized he was worthless as an acolyte.

"With zeal."

Inquisitor Apollyon smiled." Excellent."

The frame of the elevator creaked madly as it continued its descent with absurd speed. Charon looked over the objects Inquisitor Apollyon had given him. He had a bolt-pistol that had been modified to look like an autopistol and by default fired metal slugs, some typical lower-class hivecity dweller garments that had mesh armour hidden in their weave, and a small package that Apollyon had called "Istenger's Box." Charon had been told not to open it until he reached the underhive. He had also been given a small signet. It marked his rank as an Interrogator and not a full-fledged Inquisitor, but it still would be a useful negotiating tool.

The elevator's metal rang loudly as it scraped a rock in the side of the shaft.

Inside the elevator was beginning to smell: the effluence and pollution of thousands of years having slowly drained through the hive structure to the areas where it would not be cleaned. The underhive was composed of the old base of the hive-city which the government had abandoned to vagabonds, mutants and thieves as it began to fall apart.

The elevator shuddered and groaned as the brakes began to slow its movement. With a final screech, it came to a halt.

Charon smashed the broken locking mechanism of the door with the butt of his pistol until the door swung open, and looked out on a large cavern of rock and metal, littered with refuse, lit diffusely by patches of glowing green moss. Grimly Charon realized it was in this dark corner of the universe that his mettle would be tested.

"May the Emperor lend me strength" he whispered as he began to move through the cavern through the twisted metal and fallen concrete. Some sort of corridor was visible up ahead, and Charon made a beeline towards it. The air was thick with particulates and toxins, but Charon could feel the purifiers in his lungs working enthusiastically.

Around a corner light was visible and Charon could feel the psychic presence of multiple individuals. Charon rounded it warily. Camped in the corridor around a fire that smelled of rubber and petrochemicals were a small band of gangers. Show no fear. Charon kept walking until the small band began to notice him. "Nice fire you got there" he said warmly with what he hoped was a nonchalant overtone.

There were fourteen gangers, and twelve of them quickly rose to their feet. One of them kicked a short man who was sleeping as he faced away from the fire, evidently for not keeping watch.

Weapons were being turned around in eager hands. Charon couldn't see the faces. They were whispering.

"...he looks green..."

"...what's in that box he's carrying..."

"...quick let's get 'im..."

Show no fear. You are an unswerving instrument of the emperor's will.

"Who's in charge here?" Charon asked, his voice confident. He could feel his heart beating in his chest like a pneumatic drill.

A tall man stood, standing inside the glow of the firelight Charon could see he was wearing bits of flak and carapace armour cobbled together, and had two holstered hellpistols, the large powerpacks strapped to the sides of his legs. "I believe that I'm the man you're asking after" he said smiling darkly.

"Any chance that I could share your fire?"

The man paused for second. "You look to be unreasonably green. You don't exactly have the look of one who has been living beyond the wall for any substantial duration of time, if you get what I'm sayin'."

Charon nodded in what he hoped was a dismissive manner.

"And this here camp and fire belongs to the most illustrious membership of Charlie's iron-fingered gang, me being Charlie of course,"

Charon now noticed that some of the gangers including the leader had bionic fingers on their left hands.

"And not just any green-underhiver with an auto-pistol to his name is welcome into our midst."

grunts of approval could be heard from the others present.

Charon tried to smile self-assuredly, hoping his fear wouldn't betray itself, and responded, emulating the bloated language of the gang leader "So what would you name as a fair test of my worthiness?"

"You would choose."

"Mayhap I could take one of your men in a test of skill?" as soon as Charon finished the words he could tell it was a mistake. He had left the body of the decision to the gang leader who was now grinning with what seemed to be a cruel gleam in his eye.

"Unarmed combat will be your test of skill, and my man for you to contest shall be the Ox." The gangers were now snickering. The largest of them grunted appreciatively and pushed forward. He was a monster of a man, clearly some genetic abberration; Charon at 6" stood not to his hulking shoulders, which were set more than an armspan across. He pulled his hands into a fighting position, and Charon saw that fierce metal knuckles had been surgically implanted into his hands.

"the Emperor protects" Charon muttered to himself, the platitude having little calming effect. Charon took off his bolt-pistol and pack and began to concentrate on his breathing and the breathing of the Ox. They were circling each other now, "this will be interesting" said Charon, barely audible to the gangers who had now clustered around "it will indeed be," replied Charlie his voice eager in anticipation of the ostensibly imbalanced match.

The Ox charged. His fighting style was Genetian, Charon could tell by the way he held his fists as he moved forwards. He would try to get close and hammer Charon from the sides. Charon ducked below the Ox's fists and sprung forward, elbowing the Ox in the ribs as he passed. He was built like a rock.

The Ox wheeled around and Charon danced about him, chancing close contact while his opponent was off balance. Charon hammered him in the ribs in the same spot to no effect and kicked him in the shin. The Ox swiped at Charon with his implanted metal knuckles, a look of bestial rage on his face, but Charon backed off and the metal studs swung inches from his face.

It would be easiest if Charon could risk killing or permanently injuring the Ox: Charon could break his knee with a strong kick from the right angle and then go for the temple, the front of the neck, or back of the neck -- but to permanently impair or cause the death of an established member of the Iron fingered gang would only earn their emnity.

Charon charged, fading a little to the side at the last moment, deflecting one blow, evading another and leapt. He was eye-level with the Ox and struck as hard as he could to the side of the neck.

The Ox tottered, momentarily stunned.

Charon took a foot from under him, causing him to begin to lose balance, and smashed the cartilage in the tip of his nose.

The Ox crashed to the ground like a falling tree.

The gangers surrounding stared, agog. Charon picked his bolt pistol and Istenger's box back up and looked towards Charlie.

"have I passed?"

Charlie stared at him for a second "can you aim a gun?"

"only as well as I can fight" replied Charon

Charlie looked around at the other gangers who were shaking their heads in approval and disbelief.

"Well... welcome to the iron-fingered gang."

Charon smiled. So far, he was doing well.

"Just one question, where did you learn to fight like that?"

"I came down from the upper-hive."

"Oh." said Charlie seeming to accept it as a complete justification.

The gang was based in an aqua-purif plant. It had been abandoned by the hive government for centuries with the rest of the underhive, but had been maintained by generations of the underhivers, the relatively clean water it produced from the superfluous muck being an extremely valuable commodity. Charon quickly learned how business was carried at the plant and made himself useful. He was also affable and avoided the ire of his fellow gangers and thus became moderately well liked.

After a particularly hectic moss-cycle (the natural light of the moss that coated the caverns seemed to modulate over 16 hour periods) where a water main to a small settlement that had finally resumed payment had to be repaired, Charon headed out of the ramshackle concrete building and to a smaller empty side cave. He had yet to open Istenger's box. He kneeled down and examined it closely. It was some sort of metal alloy, and a small skull design was on the front. No latch to open it was visible. Charon repeated the password,

"Ave Imperator"

the top of the box swung upwards with a hiss. Inside lay a human skull minus the jaw wired to the sides of its compartment. An electronic voice began to speak.

"servoskull 0011 activating," it paused. "Commencing initial start-up command sequence." It paused again, and the monitor built into the underside of the hinged box top flickered "creating holo-communications connection." The screen flashed on, revealing Inquisitor Apollyon who inclined his head.

"You're in the underhive."

Charon nodded at the holoscreen inside Istenger's box.

"Have you made contact with the underhive inhabitants?"

"I'm supposedly a member of a minor gang."

"Excellent, have you seen any signs of chaos taint?"

"None other than a stronger negative psychic presence."

"Hmm... ask after the Cult of Zef once you have faith you will recieve truthful answers, I have a hunch."

"Yes master."

"In the box you will also find psycannon and inferno bolts as ammunition for your bolt pistol." Charon noticed the magazines to both sides of the skull "Do not use unless necessary. Contact me again when you can either confirm or deny the presence of chaos taint."

Charon nodded.

"the Emperor be with you" said Apollyon "connection out." The holo-screen went blank and Charon was left staring down at the lenses in the empty eye sockets of the servoskull.

"Why is this named Istenger's box?"

the tinny voice of the servoskull crackled in reply "Because after the death of Lord Inquisitor Istenger at the hands of the Daemon Zefarias-Hekel-Nenfernilgiye-Zakartal in the Yerin VI incident, Inquisitor Apollyon decreed his skull and brain were to be used in the construction of a servo-construct in respect for services rendered to the emperor. The servo-construct was placed inside this box."

"Do Istenger's memories or character remain?" Charon was suddenly curious.

"His memories that have not been overwritten remain, although they are not accessed in routine operations. His character could be intrapolated from the existing data."

"For what purposes would he be simulated?"

"to draw on knowledge that the servo-constructs brain donor had, so the input he would give on a situation could be accessed, or so the simulation could be assumed as a servo-construct personality."

"You can do that?"

"improper query."

"I mean," Charon found the idea bizarre "you can assume the personality of Inquisitor Lord Istenger?"

"an approximation, yes. Would you like me to do so?"

"yes."

"calibrating" the servoskull cackled, but its voice seemed strangely different. When it spoke again the voice that came through the poor speakers seemed deeper and huskier

"Hail Interrogator Charon, this is former Inquisitor Lord Istenger, honored to serve."

Charon looked down amused at the polished white skull

"Is there anything I'm unaware of that I shouldn't be?"

"I'm to be your familiar" the husky voice said.

"Ah." said Charon, the very beginning of a smile written on his face.

The gangers were gathered around a crude table for a meal. Meat from some sort of large rodent was being divided up along with some edible moss. Soon they began eating as eagerly as they had been talking, the level of conversation failing to drop as it would have in some more mannered circles as the amount of food consumption rose. Dexter was now arguing with Jaxet the chief technician of the water purification machinery.

"You can't possibly suggest that the Ecclesiarchy approves of the Cult of Redemption, their methods are crude in the extreme..."

"Compared to vast number of Imperial citizens who are apostate" Jaxtet spat the word apostate like it was some sort expletive "the Redemptionists are a pleasant breed. Besides, I'm sure that the Ecclesiarchy has much more pressing concerns..."

"but preaching the apocalypse? the Emperor has been on his golden throne for thousands of years, but it is always this generation that will mark his return; saying it is the end of time can't do anything but destabilize the very sort of institutions the Adeptus Ministorum struggles to create, not that we have any of them down here."

Jaxtet looked like he was struggling to find a response but couldn't. Charon decided it would be a good time to ask his question

"What's the Cult of Zef?"

suddenly everyone was looking at him coldly.

"Where did you hear that name?" Charlie asked him levelly

Charon considered revealing who he was, but decided against it "I heard someone mutter it in a small settlement I passed through before meeting up with you folks." Charlie looked at Charon doubtfully. "Are they anything like the Cult of Redemption?"

Jaxet looked digusted "Not at all!" Charlie was now looking at him pityingly. He was safe.

"What's the difference?"

"Everything!"

Charon gave Jaxet a blank look.

"I've heard things about this Cult of Zef, dark things" Jaxet intoned, waving his hands as he said "dark things" as if he could somehow ward them off, "things opposed to the very nature of a pious Imperial Citizen and... " Jaxet's voice wavered and stopped not knowing how to continue what he intended would be a grand speech

"and..." Charon continued.

"and... and" Jaxet spluttered "if you want to know more why don't you ask Fera's Circle!" he finished triumphant.

"Fera's Circle?" Charon was now both genuinely confused and curious.

"Bunch of crazy goofballs" Dexter said "they like to dress up and go around pretending to be Arbites."

Jaxet was looking at Dexter with an expression of unmitigated loathing. "They're vigilantes," he said "they try to enforce the Dictates Imperialis now that the true Adeptus Arbites have abandoned the underhive."

Charon nodded, interested.

"Jaxet is correct," Charlie said "if there's anyone likely to have been observing the activities of the Cult of Zef it would be Fera's Circle"

"Where are they based?" Charon asked

"It is quite unknown, but the members of Fera's Circle are known to frequent certain areas..."

"Twilight Cavern" said Jaxet, cutting Charlie off "they're usually patrolling it."

Twilight Cavern was huge and lit by a reddish orange light. There was a different species of moss here, and with the help of his memory implant Charon identified it. It was munge, a psychoactive drug and a Type II banned substance. Fera's Circle would be patrolling here to try and prevent gangers from harvesting it. Charon was beginning to like them already.

He had left the Iron-Fingered gang while they were sleeping and had gotten directions from a alcohol serving establishment in a nearby settlement. The tunnels, catacombs and caverns of the underhive weren't quite friendly to someone who didn't know their way.

Debris and moss formed a rolling landscape of hills inside the cavern and Charon could not see any other humans. The psychic noise indicated some people must be nearby... Charon tried to concentrate on their direction as he headed up the next hill, but found himself failing due to the sinister and hateful presence in the background. The hill he had now mounted gave a no better view than the last.

The boxed servoskull had an advanced sensor array, and once again Charon felt himself reaching to communicate with the familiar by his side. He could feel the psychic hum of the construct but couldn't communicate, THE TWO OTHER PSYCHIC SIGNATURES he screamed in his mind, WHERE ARE THEY? for a brief moment he could feel the presence of two blips at 55 degrees right and 350 paces. Excellent.

Charon changed direction and began jogging over the mossy ground and debris.

Soon enough he could see two figures in black carapace with shotguns "Hail!" he yelled.

They turned towards him. As they walked together he could see they were a mockery of true Arbites; their carapace armour though still painted black was a mish mash of broken plasteel plates that had been most likely been salvaged from crumbling buildings, and their helmets were made of hardened plastic. Their shotguns however looked incredibly functional.

Charon spoke again as they came closer "I seek Fera's Circle!"

They stopped several feet away. "Wherefore and whyfore?" spoke the closest pseudo-arbite

Charon lifted his Inquisitorial signet "I hope this is reason enough."

The man in black with the shotgun pretending to be an arbite inclined his head in respect. "Follow me."

Charon was led through narrow tunnels and over mountains of muck, through great caverns teeming with coral-like moss that seemed to grow into bushes and trees, and through abandoned settlements where fallen concrete and plasteel structures had to be climbed or bypassed. They passed through an existing settlement that tapped a thermal vent for energy, and the teeming people and busy faces seemed a different world from the effluent marsh they marched afterwards. Eventually they came to a crumbling building with an intercom beside a solid plasteel door.

"Delta patrol reporting," the previously silent arbite said "we have a visitor."

The pseudo-arbites like knights errant from some twisted fairy tale sat in a circle in their council-room around the 50 weighty tomes of the shortened Dictates Imperialis. There were 13 places, Charon sat in the one marked for visitors, and the rest save two were occupied. A woman had taken the ornate chair opposite the entrance, the one of greatest importance. Her armor was genuine Adeptus Arbites carapace. Charon assumed she was Fera.

Fera spoke "I've been notified that showing the inquisitorial signet you requested to be taken here. What is your business, Interrogator?"

Charon spoke commandingly with a confidence he did not feel "Tell me what you know of the Cult of Zef." Despite not knowing where he was, or what exactly he wanted, he needed to demand respect.

"They are a heretical gang, they self-mutilate, have worrying recruitment practices, and they are possibly a chaos cult. They also randomly attack other gangs and engage in acts of wanton violence." Fera replied.

Charon gritted his teeth. Possibly a chaos cult. "Have you recovered any chaos icons?"

"No."

"Have you encountered any sorcery?"

"No"

Charon could not believe he was having this conversation with an Imperial civilian. The Dictates Imperialis that these men and women supposedly served marked such knowledge of chaos as punishable by death.

"In battle what do members of the Cult of Zef say?"

another man sitting to the right of Fera, in one of the more functional looking suits of black carapace spoke "the ones I've engaged primarily engage in chants of the word 'blood.'"

Charon could feel his heart beating faster "'blood?' is that it? This is important."

The man nodded his head, "yes, they chant the word blood."

Emperor's teeth, Charon swore mentally. So close.

"Thank you, but I need more information. Where is the Cult of Zef based?"

The man who apparently had experience with engaging members of the Cult of Zef shrugged. Charon turned to Fera "We don't know," she said. "we know it is further downhive, but we do not know the tunnels there let alone..."

"Do you know anyway we could find their location or the tunnel layout?" Charon cut her off.

Fera paused for a second "There is an abandoned Adeptus Arbites outpost with powerful sensors. We lack the machinery to activate them though."

Charon psychically asked Istenger, and could feel the question answer in the affirmative. Binary communication was easy. "I however do have the machinery." replied Charon, "If you arbitrators" Charon let the word arbitrators hang in the air for a second tantalizing the small black carapaced band "wish to serve the Imperium, you shall take me to the outpost."

a ghost of a smile crossed Fera's face "And if the Cult of Zef has already claimed the outpost?"

"Then we shall bring weapons" replied Charon.

Charon kept step along the narrow path with Fera's circle. The path snaked along the side of the vast internal chasm that had developed as the underhive slowly wrenched itself apart. Both the roof and the floor were smogged in the distance and could not be seen. They were gnats clinging to a sewer wall. Charon could feel the weight of the bolt clips that he had fastened to his belt. One of them had a payload of deadly acid. Another carried blessed oils and sacred inscriptions.

Up ahead, the thick security door of the Arbites outpost stood defiant of the in the surrounding squalor.

The group came to the front of the faceless plasteel plate. It towered above the band of fake arbites led by him who was not yet an inquisitor. There was a small data-com by the side.

TO BE CONTINUED (honest to god.)


End file.
